


Subjugation

by vienna_salvatori



Category: Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: 04.02 Disassembled, Alt!Romana is a nasty piece of work, Evil AU, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21692569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienna_salvatori/pseuds/vienna_salvatori
Summary: Leela of the Sevateem should be nothing more than a curio, one of the latest spoils of war laid at Romana's feet as her Temporal Intervention Agency sweeps across the galaxies.But, well, she's an interesting one. And Romana's got problems of her own, which her latest prisoner might just be able to help her with. That is, if Leela can keep her murderous impulses in check.... or maybe even if she can't.
Relationships: implied future Leela/Romana II
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Subjugation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).



> Yuletide gift for venndaai- I really hope you enjoy it! I swear you're the only person in the Gallifrey fandom I haven't actually talked to so, uh, I really hope this is actually to your tastes.

She keeps her eyes on her councillors as the guards drag in their latest conquests- her interrogator-general, suspicious man that he is, seems to think there are alien sympathisers in their midst. Romana herself isn’t convinced; she did, after all, select all of them herself, and she doesn’t appreciate those choices being called into question.

She’ll allow him his doubts for now, Romana decides. That is what she employs him for, after all, and it would be a poor Interrogator-General indeed who failed to track down their president’s opponents.

The first squadron of guards has almost reached her with their trophy- something cyber, by the look of it, poorly-made to begin with and now cracked and deformed from war. It marches only grudgingly, making no attempt to fight against its escort.

 _This_ is what the citizens of untold galaxies have come to fear? Romana fights back a smirk, and forces her attention back to her people. Pathetic. No wonder the Temporal Intervention Agency was so quick to take command of this quadrant, if this is what they were contending with.

The smug self-righteousness of her Prydonians stings a little, when she lets her thoughts drift over the crowd, but she supposes that under the circumstances, it is fair. Towards the Arcalian section, the overwhelming impression she gets is one of scientific curiosity, an idea which drifts over to-

-there. Among the Patrexes, a flash of discontent, quickly hidden. Apparently, Interrogator-General Narvin was correct.

How unfortunate. She does so hate replacing councillors, and she might hate admitting that Narvin was right even more. He gets so very smug. At least the fact that the problem comes from within his own chapter promises to soften the blow, a little.

More guards march past, proud, their prisoners either shuffling along, defeated and subdued, or being dragged brusquely by their chains. None dare to so much as glance in her direction.

Grimly, Romana allows her people to see her smile. Her armies have done well, this campaign, and deserve to be rewarded as such. The knowledge of their president’s approval will be an assurance to many.

Two more trophies are paraded past, one in a tank- apparently, either the atmosphere or the pressure of Gallifrey disagrees with it. The next is a bipedal figure- similar to a Time Lord, at least externally, although it (she?) wears furs that would barely serve to conserve its (her?) modesty on any of the other planets Gallifrey has conquered, let alone here. Romana glances beyond her, waiting for whoever comes behind, hoping they’ll be more interesting. They get bipeds all the time, many of them human, and it’s almost disappointing how uninteresting the vast majority turn out to be.

That doesn’t appear to be the case this time, though. No sooner has her gaze shifted from the woman (she’s sure it’s a woman, now, despite the ridiculous leathers and tangled, matted hair) than she moves, far faster than Romana would have expected, lunging for the guard closest to her. Someone shouts- not Romana, and certainly not the savage- and then one of the chains she had been dragged by is wrapped around the guard’s throat.

Romana finds herself leaning forward, fascinated. The guard is struggling- he shouldn’t be suffering from oxygen deprivation, not yet, but perhaps he is just surprised. His comrades go to help him before realising they should probably secure the woman properly first. Taking advantage of their hesitation, she jerks on the chain held by another guard, causing him to drop it in sheer surprise.

This is the first time in decades- centuries, even- that Romana can recall seeing an escape attempt within the Panopticon itself.

She does not get far- one step, then another, and already her legs are tangled in the remaining bonds. If her failure wasn’t already a certainty, the sound of staser fire ensures it becomes one, and she slumps.

The council is silent for a long moment, before erupting into whispers. Romana orders them silent and marches down to view the action, ignoring the guards stationed by her completely. Most seem too shocked to react. Idiots.

Up close, the woman looks pathetic- she curled in on herself as she fell, appearing even smaller than before. Her entire body is coated in grime, numerous cuts and bruises littering her skin. Already, her hands and forearms are wreathed in lines of purple-blue from where she pulled the chains taught in her escape attempt.

Romana’s eyes linger on the woman even as her interrogator general steps into place beside her, reholstering his staser.

‘I hope that was set to stun, Narvin’, she tells him, once the injured guard is being attended to and the prisoners escorted to their cells.

He glares at her. ‘You want her alive? After this?’

Romana jerks an eyebrow, and he sighs, before adding, ‘of course, my lady. The savage suffered no permanent damage.’ He turns to go, even without a dismissal, muttering under his breath. ‘I’m looking forward to the opportunity to change that.’

 _As am I_ , she thinks, turning to dismiss the remaining council members, _but probably not in quite the way you are hoping for._

* * *

‘Madam President, I must object!’

‘Of course you must, Narvin, you do always seem to.’

He stops, spluttering, then realises that she’s continued striding towards the cell housing their latest prisoner, and scrambles to catch up with her. ‘My lady, I must insist that you do not see the savage. If you do, at least take an escort. She’s attacked several of my men already.’

There was, Romana reflects, a very good reason for appointing Narvin to this position. She wishes she could remember what it was, if only so that she can confirm acting on her impulse to rid herself of his entirely slimy personality will not cause true difficulties for Gallifrey.

‘She is unarmed, yes?’

‘Well, yes, but-’

‘And I’m sure you will be just outside the door, ready to rush to my aid at even the slightest sign of trouble?’

‘My lady-’

‘Then you will let me handle this, Narvin! Is. That. Understood?’

He hesitates, then nods, reluctantly. Apparently, he isn’t quite suicidal enough to disobey a direct order from his president.

She’s not quite annoyed enough with him to actually regret that. It’s a close thing, though.

Putting all thoughts of irritating subordinates from her mind, Romana strides forward and opens the door to the savage woman’s cell.

Instantly, furious eyes lock onto her own, and if she was anyone else, Romana would flee the room.

On reflection, the idea is laughable- the prisoner is half-crazed with exhaustion, barely conscious and slumped against the wall on the far side of the cell. On a purely practical level, she is no threat whatsoever. Romana is in more danger of falling down the stairs by her office and suffering an undignified regeneration than she is of being harmed by this woman. There is something truly wild about her, though, untamed in a way that is completely unknown on Gallifrey. Something that makes her doubt, just for a moment, that the woman really is as beaten as she looks.

Carefully, keeping well out of reach of the prisoner, Romana settles herself cross-legged on the floor of the cell. The woman observes her warily, muscles tense and eyes sharp, but, like a cautious animal, she makes no move to attack. Not yet, at least.

It’s ~~refreshing~~ _concerning_ , seeing that hint of untamed savagery shining through. Romana is supposed to be in control of the timelines, after all, and every moment of this woman’s past should be catered to her every whim. Instead, she is fierce, running on instincts her carefully controlled history should not have gifted her-

- _feral_. The thought of it sets her hearts pounding, even if she’s careful not to show any weakness. Instead, she focuses on keeping her gaze level and her hands still, even as her thoughts cascade through a dozen different scenarios.

There is nothing wrong with her temporal interventions, there cannot be anything wrong. Gallifrey’s control over the timelines is absolute. Even the meddling of her Burner, from before he returned to Gallifrey, has been corrected. But- there is a possibility, however small… Narvin has been very insistent upon the existence of a traitor, hasn’t he? If Gallifrey’s control is absolute but _hers_ is not…

‘Well?’ The woman demands, dragging her mind back to the present. ‘Have you come to gloat, or do you simply wish to stare at me?’

Romana jerks an eyebrow, but remains silent.

‘Staring, I see?’ Look, then, since I cannot stop you. Here I am, a Sevateem warrior- two arms, two legs, one heart beating in my chest, and it is so much braver than yours!’

‘Yes, I’m familiar with your anatomy, thank you’, she murmurs. The woman falls silent, returning to a mutinous glare. ‘In fact’, she adds, ‘I’m familiar with a great deal of you- Leela, isn’t it? Warrior of the Sevateem?’

The timelines are not hers. This woman- this Leela- is not hers, but oh, how she wants her to be.

Smirking, she reaches for the communicator Narvin had insisted she carry. It is not Narvin she contacts, though. ‘My Lord Burner? I believe I have a task for you.’

‘Yes, my lady?’ he asks, instantly, and she breathes easier, for all she already knew the traitor would not be him.

‘Our latest prisoner, Leela’, she says, letting the woman’s name linger in the air for a moment. It’s quite pretty, for a savage. It suits her. ‘She was quite close to her father, was she not?’ Her Burner doesn’t answer, and Leela doesn’t interrupt, for all that the tension in her body practically screams her desire to rip Romana’s throat out.

‘Burn him’, she commands. The imperiousness comes to her voice naturally as she gives the order, echoing slightly in the cramped cell. ‘Erase him from history so that he never existed. I believe he taught his daughter a certain rebelliousness, and- it displeases me.’

There is a pause, just for a moment. And then-

‘As my lady wishes.’ The beep of a communicator being disconnected as its owner sets to his work.

‘NO!!!’ A desperate, ragged scream, more emotion than words, and the woman throwing herself across the room, wariness replaced by anger. Romana is already on her feet, but it’s a struggle to stay upright as Leela crashes into her, furious and desperate.

‘That impulsiveness will serve you no good here, Leela’, Romana says, as steadily as she can manage. She had expected the attack- known it would come as soon as she gave the order- but, by Rassilon, Leela is strong. Perhaps not as strong as a Time Lord, but close enough to surprise even her.

Stronger than she should be- stronger than a human, no matter how far along the evolutionary tree, should ever be. Yet another point in favour of a traitor, then. It’s a struggle to keep the woman’s wrists pinned, stop her from seizing Romana’s neck, but she manages to keep her grip. ‘I assure you’, she says, ‘attacking me is the last thing you should do if you wish for your stay here to be at all pleasant.’

‘And why should I listen to you?’ Leela snarls, twisting in such a manner that she almost breaks free of Romana’s grasp. ‘You’re killing my father!’

Romana tightens her grip slightly in warning, feeling bones grind against each other underneath her fingers. Bizarrely enough, she almost feels proud when Leela doesn’t even make a sound. ‘He’s not going to die’, Romana warns. ‘Nothing quite so crude.’

‘He will be as good as’, Leela hisses, yanking her hands back. After a moment, Romana lets her go- they’re talking, now, so she probably doesn’t need to worry about another attempted murder in the next few moments. ‘And for what? Your people have already taken my planet. We have surrendered, Sevateem and Tesh both. This is the action of a tyrant, not a warrior!’

‘Do you really think that? Tell me, honestly. If you had captured one of these… these Tesh, beaten them in battle, and they still refused to obey you- what would you do with them?’

‘They would die in battle with _honour_. Something you Time Lords do not seem to have heard of.’

‘So you would prefer for me to kill you, instead.’

There. Just the slightest flicker of hesitation.

Leela raises her chin. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh, you don’t mean that.’

‘what- yes, I do! I mean every word!’

Romana snorts. ‘You would rather die? For what? You’d achieve nothing. It wouldn’t even inconvenience me in the slightest.’ This is a lie, or at least, it might be, if the plan Romana is quietly building in the back of her mind turns out to be a good one. Leela doesn’t need to know that, though. What she needs-

‘I’m a pragmatist, Leela, not a monster. I’ve ordered my burner to deal with your father because I want you to work with me, but I need a guarantee. Tell me about him. Convince me why I shouldn’t do this. Convince me that I should at least allow you to honour his memory.’

Leela freezes, like- what’s that Earth expression her burner was always so fond of? Deer in the headlights.

Romana crosses her arms and waits.

‘My father- he was a good man’, Leela begins, carefully, haltingly. ‘He was a warrior, like I am, and like my mother was. He- he taught me to hunt. He taught me when to kill and when to let live. He taught me about honour.’

‘Mmm.’ Romana watches, quietly, as Leela’s timeline shudders and jerks, weaves back upon itself in bloody paradox. Her Burner has made short work of the task assigned to him.

‘Tell me, Leela’, she says. ‘What was your father’s name?’

Leela opens her mouth to respond, then freezes. ‘I- I don’t-’

‘I need a warrior’, Romana tells her. ‘A guard. More than that, I need a general. And I’m a pragmatist, remember. I don’t particularly care who that person might be, as long as they’re loyal.’

The cell door slams shut behind her.

* * *

President Romana slumps back, rubbing her eyes.

Somehow, she had never realised just how much paperwork came along with the presidency. It was obvious in hindsight, really- Gallifrey ran on bureaucracy, and while she’d certainly trimmed away some, her campaigns more than seem to make up for it.

She lets her eyes drift towards the windows, out over the citadel bathed in the last light of her second sun. Out in the universe, entropy rules supreme, the timelines run wild, and her Temporal Intervention Agency forces them into submission. All of the universe bends to Gallifrey’s will, sooner or later.

She hears the door slide open, but no footsteps, and she smiles, correcting herself.

All of the universe will bend to _her_ will, sooner or later.

‘Hello, Leela’, she says.

The room remains silent, and seemingly empty, but she feels an itch between her shoulder blades, like she’s being watched.

‘I assume you’ve dealt with Narvin for me?’ It’s a rhetorical question. She’s already been informed that her former interrogator-general was found dead in the savage’s cell, a knife buried in each of his hearts. No one seemed entirely certain where the savage got the knives from, and Romana saw no reason to clarify.

There were still many, _many_ councillors who would be horrified at the idea that Romana would appoint a human over a time lord, let alone that she would encourage one to reach the post through murder. Better, then, that her newest asset is feared even before she takes the title. No need for anyone to know she had help.

No need for anyone else to know the full extent of Narvin’s treachery, either.

‘Thank you’, she says, honestly. ‘I’ve had my doubts about Narvin’s true allegiance for many, many years now. It’s reassuring, having his replacement start her tenure with such a show of loyalty.’

There’s still no response from the seemingly empty room. Romana waits.

‘Tell me why I should not kill you right now.’ The voice comes from just behind her ear, closer than she was expecting, and she fights back a flinch. She has planned for this situation, weighed the risks and rewards and she _knows_ she’s in no danger from the woman at her back.

Forcing her hearts to remain steady, Romana smiles. ‘Oh, Leela. What would you gain from that? You kill me now, you’ll never get off this planet alive.’

‘You seem very confident for a woman with a knife so close to her kidneys. Now, tell me again. Why should I let you live?’

 _Because you’ve left me alive this long_ , Romana thinks, but does not say. Leela’s decision was made the moment she stepped into this room- no, it was made the moment Romana made her offer. But the human woman is so emotional, still, and will not appreciate being told as such.

Instead, Romana turns, slowly, keeping her poster relaxed. She feels the fabric of her robes shred beneath Leela’s knife as she moves, but the blade doesn’t break skin. Internally, Romana smirks in triumph. When Leela shoves her backwards, pins her against the desk, and rotates the blade so the flat edge rests against her ribs- careful not to risk drawing blood- Romana lets her see the smile.

‘What do you think your options are, exactly?’ Romana can feel the warmth of her “captor’s” hands even through her robes- Leela is warm, even for a human, sweat lining her palms even as her grip on the blade stays steady. ‘As I said, if you kill me, you’ll never get off the planet alive. And it’s hardly like you could replace me, my people would never accept a _human_ president.’

Romana pauses. The other woman is surprisingly calm, no sign of the icy hatred which had categorised their earlier meetings. Instead, her bright blue eyes are sparkling with curiosity. Like she really _does_ want to hear what Romana has to say.

‘The position of interrogator-general appears to have just opened, following the absolutely _tragic_ death of interrogator-general Narvin’, she offers. Leela huffs out a laugh. ‘It’s a very prestigious position, one which needs to go to someone I can trust to protect my interests above all else. Whoever this person is… they will have an almost unprecedented level of influence over me, and, by extension, over Gallifrey.’

Leela tilts her head. ‘And by that you mean the universe which you plan to conquer, as well.’

‘The universe which I am conquering’, Romana corrects. ‘You’re new to the politics of this place. I’m sure Narvin had allies, and I’m equally sure you were not one of them. I’d like to be able to trust you, Leela. I’m not entirely sure I can trust anyone else.’

Leela stares at her, then nods, her long hair falling forward and tickling Romana’s nose. A moment later, she shifts back, withdrawing the knife as she does so. Oddly enough, Romana finds she almost misses the pressure. ‘What do I need to do? Swear myself to you? Write an oath in blood?’

‘Nothing so dramatic.’ Romana reaches back over her desk, grasps the last piece of paper awaiting her attention for the day. ‘Quite by chance, I seem to have the relevant paperwork right here.’

Leela, it appears, cannot read- but she slashes the pen like she wields a dagger, leaving scores of ink across the page in lieu of a signature. Romana finds herself smiling, again. Her interrogator-general returns the gesture.

‘Well, then, Leela’, she says. ‘I look forward to working with you.’ 


End file.
